The Sherlockian
by TheVelvetFlower
Summary: Amidst the third anniversary of Sherlock's fall, John suddenly reunites with Sherlock and a potential new case arises involving the death of a Sherlockian's parents. Not only does John attempt to adjust to the sudden reappearance of Sherlock, the two of them must adapt to the existence of Sherlockians, especially one in particular...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, besides the Willingtons & possible extra characters.

**A/N**: I always liked the idea of Sherlock and John meeting a Sherlockian. Since there's a handful of us in this universe, it would only be safe to assume that there's just as many in the Sherlock universe. Though because they're not going to bring a Sherlockian into the series (like how in Doctor Who, Elton was their own version of a Whovian), I ended up stretching out the idea into a little story. Enjoy it, don't, I don't care. I just had fun writing this.

**Chapter One**

On the eve of the third anniversary of Sherlock Holmes' fall, Sherlockians stalked the night with bags slung across their shoulders as they raided the streets of London, plastering "I Believe in Sherlock" posters everywhere they went. Acknowledging one another with a nod or a wave, Sherlockians would go about their business to prepare the city for a day of remembrance, a day only Sherlockians were willing to embrace and celebrate. Throughout the night, grey clouds began to sweep across the skies and the rain began to fall, which the Sherlockians took as a sign to retreat back to their respective homes.

However, before they could head home, those that were dwelling near 221B Baker Street paraded along the opposite side walk as they passed by what they knew as Sherlock and John's flat. The Sherlockians would trudge along as they gave a silent salute to John Watson who resided by the window every year to watch them embark their mission to remind everyone of Sherlock Holmes. Directly after his "death," his name gravitated to a gentle whisper among the public, but every year, for just one day, his name and his reptation as the world's only consulting detective would be revived. With their heads tilted up to the high window, their silent observer did very little and said absolutely nothing, yet everyone could tell that he appreciated what they all did. On the days following the anniversary, Sherlockians have been known to witness John collecting the various posters on occassion.

John Watson had always considered this as a familiar view, one that both filled his heart with warmth and sorrow. Despite the malicious slander that Sherlock had received even after death, it never ceased to amaze John how much these strangers respected Sherlock as much as he did. These people bore a vast amount of dedication to the man and his work and their admiration was very extensive. Though what John found more surprising was how well behaved Sherlockians were whenever they encountered him. Often times when he's awaiting a cab or going grocery shopping, Sherlockians would immediately recognize him, but they merely give him the same salute he's witnessing this very night.

As the rain began to fall and the Sherlockians began to scatter the street to return home, John noticed one lone girl hung about on the opposite side of the street, residing on the curb with her eyes fixated on a crumpled piece of paper in her hands. He carefully watched her as she tried to straighten it out to only crumple it up again. Yet through a reluctant attempt, she straightened it out once more and stood up. Though instead of heading home like the rest, she walked up to the door of 221B Baker Street. From upstairs, John could hear the knock she made upon the door, but he didn't bother moving as he watched her skip away from the front door and turned back, giving him a salute before joining the rest of her peers.

Once John had watched her disappear into the crowd, he slowly navigated himself down the stairs and headed to the front door. As he opened the door slightly a jar, he could see the crumpled piece of paper taped on the knocker. He pulled it off and gave a wave to the remaining Sherlockians that remained along the street before he headed back upstairs. Carefully he returned to the sitting room with his eyes fixated on the note that was scribbled rather frantically.

"In the future, I may need your help." John read as he sat down at his armchair, his eyes narrowing on the words to decipher through the messy handwriting. "This was not intentional and I have no reason to be rude. I truly am sorry, I truly am. I have very few details and all I have to go with is a gut feeling. I will return tomorrow."

John slightly frowned, wondering why this girl would bother asking him of all people for help. He was nothing like Sherlock and his skills of deduction were still poor, even after spending so much time with that man. John merely sighed out of pity, setting aside the note and left it sitting on the coffee table before he headed to bed. Night had finally reigned over the sky that cried heavily over the city of London. With one last glimpse at the window as the rain began to pitter-patter against the window pane, John flicked off the light and headed upstairs to his room as he finally felt his body succumb to exhaustion.

"The Sherlockians have struck again." The television news reporter announced as they began this morning's newscast to elaborate on the Sherlockian's yearly mission. The television screen flashed scenes of walls completely covered with posters and posters flying through the wind, littering the streets of London. John went on watching from his armchair with a cup of tea, suddenly realizing how much this event has grown over the years. During the first year, there were posters sporadically placed throughout London, but by the second year, posters had covered all parts of England and other parts of the world. This year, they had completely outdone themselves in a larger number of Sherlockians and posters all together.

"All for you, Sherlock." John murmured with a slight smirk. He sighed and raised his cup of tea to his lips. "If only you could see this..."

Unknowingly to John, Sherlock was able to witness the Sherlockian's yearly mission during the previous night. Concealing himself with a simple disguise as he made his return to London, Sherlock dwelled among the Sherlockians as they went out their way to revive his name in everyone's memory. While he was rather unhappy that they were giving him attention, everyone still believed he was dead and this yearly event was enough to enforce that fact. Luckily for him, it worked to his advantage and allowed him to continue to sabotage Moriarty's web without any problems. Now and then, he would be snagged with a dilemma that he feared he would never get himself out of, but in the end, he was rewarded with the relief of returning back home.

That same morning, Sherlock snatched one of the posters off a wall and a smug smile appeared upon his face as he began to make his way to 221B Baker Street. Folding it away into his pocket, Sherlock wandered back to his old home, welling up with a mixture of emotions with each step he took. It had been three years since he "disappeared" and because he gave John no word as to what had actually happened, he was only anticipating the worst out of him. Sherlock was actually ashamed that he had brought John to gravitate back to his old habits, but he was hoping his return would be enough to change that. Though no matter how hopeful Sherlock tried to be about the situation, he knew it would only be a rough adjustment for both of them to have him back in John's life.

John's tea cup clattered into the kitchen sink as John began to prep himself for another day of work. While he was constantly reluctant to head off to the clinic, he still forced himself to go so he could pay off the rent now that Sherlock was gone. Luckily for him, Mrs. Hudson was more than willing to loosen up on the rent so he didn't have much to worry about living in the flat. While over the years he hated living there, he never had the will power to make himself actually leave it behind. Though instead of spending any time in the flat, John actually spent a bulk of his days outside. At least in public, he was surrounded by people and at least then, he wouldn't have to feel so alone. Though no matter what John did, loneliness still weighed heavily in the back of his mind.

With a sigh, John dragged himself down the stairs, but as soon as he opened the door, he found a slightly familiar man standing before him with his hand raised close to the door knocker. With a blank stare, John took a step back to observe the man more thoroughly. Same face, same eyes, but the outfit was different as was the slightly longer and shaggier hair. He bit his lip, slightly hesitant to say it, but it came out only as a whisper, "Sherlock?"

Sherlock's lips flinched into a weak smile as he slowly lowered his hand to his side. He nodded and quietly replied, "John."

John flinched, slightly confused as to what he was seeing. There were a million thoughts swarming through his mind, but there was only one thing that came to mind. Without hesitation, John punched Sherlock square in the jaw. With anger brewing out of John's already weary body, he was panting out of exhaustion from that one swift punch. Sherlock had keeled over, but slowly pulled himself up and let out a rough chuckle, rubbing his cheek.

"I deserved that." He replied, observing his hand to notice he was drawing blood.

"You think?" John exclaimed madly.

"I know I can never apologize to you enough, John." Sherlock told him, still gently rubbing his jaw.

"You need to do more than apologize, Sherlock! How are you even here? I saw you! I watched you jump from St. Bart's! I saw your body! I saw... I saw..." John's jaw tightened as he felt his eyes water up with tears. He shook his head madly, trying to force them back because he refused to look emotionally vulnerable, especially in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed and nodded. "Yes, I know I have a lot to explain, John."

"Then do it." John replied bitterly.

For a moment, the two of them merely exchanged a rather intense stare when suddenly, the silence was broken by the shrieking of a young lady calling out John's name. She was on the other side of the street, frantically flailing her arms while she almost carelessly ran in front of a passing cab. Rushing off towards the front door of 221B Baker Street, she breathlessly murmured John's name once more before she finally realized who he was standing with.

"I'm interrupting something, aren't I?" She questioned. Her mouth gaped open as if to continue speaking, but she paused, thinking momentarily. "No, wait, I _definitely_ am. You know what, continue. I'll... I'll just... be here." She weakly smiled as she pointed down at the ground.

John sighed, giving Sherlock a side-glance. "We're not done here, you hear me?"

"Of course." Sherlock simply replied.

As John continued past him, he took a glance at the girl. "Wait," He said, stopping right before the girl. "I recognize you. You're the girl from last night. You tacked that poster on my door."

"Yes." She said with a slight nod. "I'm-"

"Wendy Willington." Sherlock said, glancing back at John and Wendy. "The only daughter of Martha and Riley Willington."

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. "Who?"

"The Willingtons. The owners of Willington hotels, which are known famously worldwide."

Wendy sighed. "Yes, that is me."

John raised his eyebrows slightly. "_You're_ Wendy? _The_ Wendy Willington? The same Wendy Willington that organized this poster affair?" He motioned to the posters aligned down the road across the street.

"Oh, so you _do_ know about me." She said with a smug smile.

"Well, yes, they talk about you on the news every year." John explained.

"You also own that blog." Sherlock added, eyeing her curiously.

"You read that?" Wendy questioned.

"Mere observation." Sherlock waved it off.

"Right." John rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't know why you would need help, but-"

"Then you haven't read this morning's paper." Wendy murmured as she pulled something out of her bag. It was a newspaper with the headlines reading, "Willington's Double Suicide." with a photo of her parents right in the middle. "My parents died last night."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "But you don't think it's a double suicide."

"They were murdered."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own much else besides the Willingtons + possible extras.

**A/N**: Not much to say. Just read on. Enjoy, don't. It doesn't matter to me.

**Chapter Two**

The moment Wendy entered the sitting room of 221B Baker Street, her eyes scanned the room with amazement and wonder. Just like most Sherlockians, she was only familiar with the outside and what little she could make out through the windows. Now that she was finally in their flat, she forced herself to contain her excitement and took a seat at the chair that John had set out between their two armchairs. Sherlock lingered by the coffee table, taking Wendy's note and carried it along with him as he settled himself at his own armchair. Wendy observed him curiously as he began to rub his cheek, which was red and slightly puffy from John's punch earlier.

"What the hell happened to you?" Wendy asked bluntly. Sherlock flinched slightly, giving Wendy a quick glance before he continued observing her note.

"He's fine, Wendy." John told her, handing her a cup of tea. She smiled up at him with gratitude before she continued looking over Sherlock's cheek. "It's just three years worth of anger. He'll survive."

"Ah." Wendy pursed her lips, amused by John's response as she took a sip of tea. "You know, perhaps I should come at another time." She suggested as she watched John take his spot at his own armchair. "It's obvious you two have a lot of catching up to do."

"Considering he's _alive_, I think we have a lifetime to do that." John glanced over at Sherlock, a slightly bitter expression forming upon his face. "Unless he has other plans to disappear again..."

"None at all, John." Sherlock replied simply, looking at him with a placid face. He then glanced at Wendy and waved her note in the air slightly. "Now why did you leave this for John last night?"

"I just thought he could help somehow." Wendy shrugged. "While my parents were still alive around this time, I was desperate for any bit of help." She bit her lip, rather reluctant to continue. "Are you _sure_ I can't come back another time?"

"Please, Wendy," John muttered. "Humor the man. I'm sure he hasn't been able to show off for _days_."

Sherlock glanced at John, slightly narrowing his eyes.

Wendy took a long sip of tea and sighed. "John, you're obviously very bitter about what's happened."

"Our personal matters are none of your business, Wendy." John stated.

"Oh, but they will be when you blog about it." Wendy answered. "And we all know you definitely will, so honestly, I don't see the point in being so secretive about something that will be made public by the time you're in front of that laptop."

Feeling slightly defeated by the words of the young lady, John sighed and glanced over at Sherlock who's gaze was still fixated on him. "You still owe me an explanation."

"Ask, and you will receive." Sherlock waved a hand in the air to urge John on with questions.

"So..." John paused, trying to collect his thoughts. "Why did you do it?"

"Three bullets," Sherlock stated. "Three victims. You, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were all in danger as long as I lived. There was nothing to call the snipers off because Moriarty..." Sherlock's brow furrowed slightly. "Made his departure. Without him, only my death would have called them off. With that said, I did what I had to do. I jumped, but it was all a simple ruse to have the snipers believe I was truly dead."

"What do you mean Moriarty made his departure?" Wendy interrupted, which caused both Sherlock and John to glare at her. "Sorry, I'm... I'm just curious..." She peeped.

"He shot himself in the head." Sherlock replied bluntly, which caused Wendy's eyes to widen slightly and forced her mouth shut.

"You could have had the decency to tell me." John muttered, crossing his arms.

"That would only put you in danger."

"Do you think I would of cared?" John remarked. Never anticipating John to be so spiteful, Wendy's eyes widened out of surprise. She bit her lip slightly while her hands wrapped themselves around tightly the cup of tea that sat upon her lap.

"Well, I _did_." Sherlock hissed. "I risked everything out there for the past three years just so you could be safe. I'm truly sorry, John. I truly am. I never intended for you to-"

"Right." John interrupted. "You had to leave me to believe my best friend was dead all this time."

"I had to ruin my own reputation so I could sabotage Moriarty's web successfully, John." Sherlock explained. "My death was the only way to secure your safety. If I even made the slightest effort to talk to you, you would only be put in danger as well. I couldn't..." Sherlock sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I couldn't risk that."

"If you haven't forgotten, I'm a military man, Sherlock." John replied bitterly.

"I rather not have you involved."

"I could have helped!"

"It was better you didn't."

"Did you not hear me? I'm a _military man_."

"Yes, but I preferred you stayed _out_ of it."

"Sherlock, do you-"

"John, I don't know if you haven't noticed, but I was making an effort in being a friend. _To you. _I know friends don't necessarily lie about their deaths nor do they leave their friends to relapse into depression, but I was trying my best to keep you safe because that's what you told me. Wasn't it, John?" Sherlock stated in a frantic rush, almost as if his words wouldn't be heard if John continued speaking. With a stern stare, he looked at John who's face crumbled into a look of fragility. "_Friends protect people._"

As if his words were arrows, they stabbed John directly through his heart as he stared back at his best friend who continued to look at him with that severe look upon his face. Blinded by his own emotions and the life that he had spent without Sherlock, he had overlooked the reason as to why Sherlock went out on this ridiculous mission. Despite being a man who lacked sympathy and social norms, Sherlock was attempting to become a good friend and here John was, giving him very little credit.

All while John contemplated on Sherlock's words, Wendy looked on with a frantic expression upon her face. Glancing back and forth at Sherlock and John, she could feel her heart overwhelmed with emotions that she only got out of the fanfiction that she read from other Sherlockians. In fact, she read numerous reunion fanfiction, but none could ever top the raw emotion from the actual moment itself. She found the whole situation was far too overwhelming for her to comprehend. Here Wendy was, the first and only Sherlockian to bear witness the reunion of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John H. Watson. She would be the only one to know the full details of their reunion and their conversation over lost times. While she felt so giddy, she easily became conflicted because she was only here by one regard, the death of her parents.

"I did say that." John finally admitted quietly. "And I'm sorry, I suppose I owe you a thank you as well."

"And I will continue to apologize for as long as I live." Sherlock responded.

Welling with pride, Wendy looked at the two of them with a weak smile. "That's a good start, boys." She said quietly, rather fearful of their glaring eyes.

John sighed. "I suppose we have you to thank."

Wendy shook her head. "The conversation would of occurred at any time, but I just couldn't bear not having you two acknowledge the problem. There's a reason why I adore the two of you-"

"Yes, clearly stated on your blog." Sherlock interrupted.

Frowning slightly, Wendy continued. "I adore you two because your friendship is a remarkable thing. I can't stand to see you two so reluctant to discuss such an important thing between the twoo of you. It's what makes you Sherlock Holmes _and_ John Watson. I know my opinion means very little and I am just another face among a crowd, but you two need each other and I know things aren't okay right now, but they will be someday."

"Thank you for your commentary, Miss Willington." Sherlock said with lack of interest.

Wendy scoffed. "I would think you would be more appreciative of that, Sherlock."

"It's appreciated." John assured her with a gentle smile. "I just think Sherlock's more reluctant to admit it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Are we going to continue this conversation drenched in sentiment or are we going to discuss this case involving a particular double homocide?"

"Fine, I'm satisfied." Wendy sighed as she took another sip of tea. "Ask, and you will receive." She mocked Sherlock, waving a hand in the air. As Sherlock glared her way, John let out a stifled chuckle.

"So why did you think John could help you?" Sherlock questioned, ignoring the exchange of giggles between John and Wendy. "Obviously by the condition of the note, you were rather reluctant to get help. You crumpled this poster at least three times over. You shakily written the note out of nervousness and uncerainty. Yet despite everything, you gave the note to John."

"Oh, lovely... deductions." Wendy responded, amused by Sherlock. "Well, yes, I just thought the least bit of influence could help."

"Though I could give you little help." John told her. "I'm nothing like Sherlock."

"Oh, give yourself more credit, John," Sherlock remarked. "Your deduction skills aren't as bad as I remember them to be."

"Cute!" Wendy exclaimed happily, which caused John and Sherlock to glare her way once more. "Sorry, but... well, that _was_ cute..."

Sherlock sighed. "We can do without your opinions, Wendy. Now what is this gut feeling you mentioned?"

Wendy sighed, leaning her back onto the chair as she thought back to the previous night. That memory resided in the back of her mind amidst the clouds of fog that she hoped would cover it up enough to make her forget. Yet no matter what she did, everything about that night was clear as day and the details still remained refined in her mind. Raising her gaze slightly to Sherlock, she weakly smiled.

"It wasn't so much a gut feeling, they told me."

"Your parents?" John questioned.

"Yes." Wendy took a small sip of tea and stared down at what little was left. "They told me that something was going to happen." Suddenly, her heart easily became depleted of feeling as her tea cup. "That was enough to cause me to worry..."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** What was once a story I easily projected in my head has become a faded dream. I'm still in process of working out the details for this story so I apologize for updating so sporadically. I really like this idea so I have no intentions of giving it up yet. I probably should create an outline just like the other story, so... uh, yeah... Anyway, enjoy it, don't. The story will get better as the chapters go on.

**Chapter Three**

Wendy's carefree demeanor had easily deteriorated as she stared down at her empty tea cup, her hands fumbling around it before she decided to place it down by her feet. For a moment, she sat in silence to collect her thoughts, almost feeling her nerves were getting the best out of her as she eventually became aware of Sherlock's and John's dwelling stares. She let out a sigh and leaned her back against the chair, taking a glimpse at both men and softly smiled. "Sorry."

"No, take your time, Wendy." John assured her, glancing at Sherlock to make sure he wasn't getting impatient. Sherlock merely sat there with his hands folded, his gaze still fixated on Wendy as if he was observing every inch of her as she continued to fidget in her chair.

"When you do choose to speak, add as many details as you can, will you?" Sherlock added, an eyebrow slightly raising as he continued staring at her.

"As you know, I partake in the yearly Sherlockian poster event. Though by the time it was midnight, I had returned back home to only find my parents seated in the living room looking as prompt as ever." She scoffed at the thought. "Father with his newspaper, mother with her cup of tea... it was as if they never left.

"At first, I was just... _angry._" She frowned, feeling almost sick to her stomach as she said so. Now that her parents had passed away, she was regretting for ever being mad at them in the first place. "They weren't expected to come home until August, but there they were acting like everything was okay. Though how can it be when they leave their only child alone for months on end? They would leave for months and then they would only return for a matter of weeks, sometimes they would only stay for a few days. Of course that was enough to bring up a rebellious child, fueled by loneliness and rage. God... I had spent a bulk of my life just loathing their existence. All they ever did was send me stupid snow globes and shit to compensate for being shitty parents. As if that ever helped...

"I kept them though." She admitted quietly as she glanced up at them with a child-like innocence. "They started leaving home when I was eight years old and every souvenir they sent me since then, I kept on shelves in my room. Mere reminders that maybe they did care, but their demeanor towards me whenever they came back always told me otherwise. I didn't expect anything different this time. They were being the pompous people I grew up knowing.

"It just..." She sighed, running her hands through her hair. "It got weird when they started telling me they loved me. The last time I remember them ever saying so was when it was my eighth birthday. They never so much acknowledged that they loved me when they were away. They never congratulated me on graduations, they never bothered to make a phone call on my birthdays... they were always shitty parents, yet somehow, despite all that, they still admitted they loved me.

"I wanted to tell them to stay. I wanted to tell them to become the parents they were capable of being, but instead, they were basically telling me goodbye." She sighed deeply, her eyes dropping to the floor. John noticed the difficulty she had with this subject matter, but Sherlock merely continued watching her. "That's what I got out of our conversation last night, anyway."

"What do you mean goodbye?" John asked.

"Well, you know, they were murdered." She replied bluntly, looking at him with a blank face. "Though at the time, it was just a gut feeling. Father was saying 'It's all for you. We did this for you.' I just had no idea what he meant, but he went on saying something might happen to them. He didn't know when or how, but he said it was inevitable. He told me they wouldn't be able to return, but they did everything with me on mind.

She shrugged. "I didn't know what he meant by that either. Mother said they couldn't let me on too much, so I was just left even more confused. Though she did admit they were godawful parents. She said the souvenirs they sent me were out of pity because they were never there for me. She even started to break down and everything she said was practically incohorent...

"She was just apologizing and saying it was all their fault and it was all a mistake-"

"What was a mistake?" Sherlock interrupted, cocking his head slightly.

"Like I said, I really don't know." Wendy looked back at Sherlock with a vacant stare. "That was the only time out of a decade that I ever seen them react that way. Throughout the few times I've met up with them, they never seemed stressed or nervous, but that night... that night, something was wrong. Their confession about being bad parents? Their admittance that they loved me? Their apologies for never being there for me? That was practically a goodbye speech." She shook her head. "It _was_ a goodbye speech."

"And I don't know when, but when I returned to my room, my Mother left me this sitting on my bedside table." She pulled out a chained necklace from her jacket pocket, watching it carefully as it swung from her fingers. A locket at the end hang solely, which contained an old family portrait. "It was her's. I recognize it because she would always wear it whenever they returned home." She chuckled softly. "I had no idea I actually meant so much to them."

"Then you went and gave me that note?" John asked.

Wendy nodded. "I was concerned, of course. Despite everything they put me through, their lives were in danger and while I could do nothing to save them, I thought their deaths would be justified." She shrugged. "So, I left home without their knowledge... slipped through my window, rushed off towards your home and scribbled that note... but that whole time, I just kept thinking, 'No, this is stupid,' though I obviously changed my mind. I didn't see the harm in it. You were the only I could think could help."

"Now why is that?" Sherlock asked. "Why John? Why not Scotland Yard?"

"Because Scotland Yard is filled with idiots." Wendy bluntly declared.

Sherlock smirked. "Well put. Hand over that newspaper you have, will you?"

Wendy fumbled through her bag, removing the folded newspaper and handed it to Sherlock. "A bunch of bullshit, that story... they considered it a double suicide, but it wasn't anything like that. They wouldn't be... so tearful and frightened if they were..." She swallowed down the sadness that was welling up inside her, but the tears still fell from her eyes. "They just wouldn't do that. They _wouldn't_ kill themselves."

"The crime scene is still in tact?" Sherlock asked, not looking up from the newspaper.

"I requested for it to be."

"Oh, good." Sherlock complimented with a thin smile. "Now are you allowed admittance to your home or are you required to stay off the grounds?"

"No admittance." Wendy replied. "I have to stay at a friend's until I allow them to clean up. Though, I can request admittance if need be."

"Then you can surely get us admittance at the scene." Sherlock said, swiftly standing upon his feet and rushed off to fetch his coat and scarf. "John, get your coat."

"What?" John narrowed his eyes, glancing at Sherlock. "Now?"

"Yes, now." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The crime scene is still fresh. Besides, Scotland Yard needs a wake up call, don't you think?" He gave John a half smile and John just stared at him bewildered.

"It's all rather sudden, don't you think?" John asked. "Why, even Mrs. Hudson doesn't even know you're here!"

"Oh, she will eventually." Sherlock stiffened and turned towards the doorway that led down the stairs. "Or more like _now_."

"John, do you have a visitor? I hear-" Mrs. Hudson approached the doorway and stared up at Sherlock, her eyes widened as she inched closer to him. "Sherlock? Is that... is that you?"

Sherlock sighed, merely flashing her a smile. "Now, now, Mrs. Hudson, it's quite all right. It's most definitely me, there is truly no other."

"Clearly not! You've rised from the dead!" Mrs. Hudson shrieked as she wrapped her arms around him, which was followed by some snickering from Wendy. "How are you even here?"

"Oh, there's a lifetime worth of time to explain. We must take our leave." Sherlock adjusted his scarf and glanced at Wendy. "Wendy, if you please."

She merely nodded, collecting the newspaper from Sherlock's chair and stuffed it into her bag as she joined Sherlock and John at the doorway. "Mrs. Hudson, it's a pleasure." She murmured, smiling meekly her way.

"Why, aren't you-"

"Yes, yes, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock sighed, giving Mrs. Hudson a gentle pat upon the shoulder. "That is definitely Wendy Willington."

"Oh, you poor dear!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, now flinging her arms around Wendy. "Your parents, I'm so sorry."

"It's quite all right." Wendy looked at her, still weakly smiling. "Have no pity on me, it's truly all right."

"What a brave little thing." Mrs. Hudson murmured, placing a hand against her cheek. She watched as John and Wendy swiftly followed Sherlock down the stairs, causing her to remain at the top, looking on with worry across her face. "I hope you will at least explain everything later!"

"Of course, Mrs. Hudson!" John cried out from downstairs.

"With tea and biscuits, of course!" Sherlock added with a chuckle.

As Sherlock hurried them out of the flat, Wendy looked at them, slightly frowning. While her excitement had simmered down, she was rather reluctant to return back home to where her parents had died. By leaving the scene in tact, this meant her parents' room was left in the bloody mess as she had witnessed late that night. John, noticing her dismal look upon her face merely placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

"You dont't have to come with us."

Wendy shook her head. "I just... I haven't been home since late last night..."

"Perhaps it would be best you notify Scotland Yard of our intrusion _now_." Sherlock advised as they got into a cab that he had hailed.

"Of course." Wendy answered, pulling out her phone from her pocket as the three of them sat together in the back of the cab.

John, who sat in the middle, glanced down at Wendy curiously and looked back at Sherlock as he gave directions to the cabbie. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Lestrade has no idea you're alive."

"They'll have to find out someday, John." Sherlock replied, glancing over at Wendy who was on the phone.

"Hello? Yes, I would like admittance to my home, please. Name? Wendy Willington. Yes, that's me. Will you send Inspector Detective Lestrade as well? Yes, thank you." She looked at Sherlock and covered the receiver for a moment. "Anything else?"

"That will be all." Sherlock replied simply.

"That's it. Thank you." Wendy finished, hanging up as she slouched into her seat. She looked curiously at John and slightly narrowed her eyes. "Don't you have work?"

John looked at her oddly. "Now how would you know that?"

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Honestly, how could you be so daft?" She pursed her lips and slightly frowned the moment she realized what she had just said. "Wait, no, sorry, It's just... emotions running... thoughts reeling... my apologies, John."

"It's all right." John murmured. "Though I must ask, how do you know that?"

"I've seen you head out around this time for work, John. It's mere observation." Wendy waved her hand about in the air, her gaze diverted out towards the window.

"Now what is it with you Sherlockians?" John went on asking, his curiosity was practically reeling. "I've seen your blog and I've seen your plots and theories, but why are you so dedicated to Sherlock's work?"

"We're like you, John. We're merely fans." She winked, which caused him to slightly frown. "Although it can be infuriating when you attempt to hold discussions with other supposed Sherlockians..."

"Why do you say that?" John questioned.

"Have you seen Sherlock?" She glanced back at him. "A majority of Sherlockians fawn over his beauty." At her response, Sherlock merely glazed his eyes over both John and Wendy. "Don't look at me like that, Sherlock. I have no intentions to drag you to bed."

"I figured that out, but thanks for stating otherwise." Sherlock replied.

Wendy stifled out a chuckle. "My friend Helena is rather fond of Sherlock, but not to worry, I won't introduce you to any of my friends."

"That would best, Wendy." Sherlock told her, peering out his window.

Wendy sighed, folding her hands upon her messanger bag that sat upon her lap. The conversation had dwindled down into silence, which left the three completely noiseless for the rest of the ride towards her mansion home. uncomfortably, she glanced at the two friends and found they weren't even acknowledging one another as their stares were diverted in different directions. If she had to, she would be the one Sherlockian to rekindle their friendship that had faded over the past three years.


End file.
